


I don't even really care about you

by daydreamerdisease



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bloodplay, Bottom Dean, Choking, Crying Dean, Knifeplay, M/M, Rape, Soulless Sam Winchester, Top Sam, Wincest - Freeform, face fucking, gagging, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamerdisease/pseuds/daydreamerdisease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's not really all that good at listening to what other people tell him to do. So when his brother suggests he go to him before he make any move now that he didn't have a soul and was 'Robo-Sam'? Yeah. No, thanks. He didn't really need a conscience, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don't even really care about you

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, written at five in the morning, with no beta. Go easy on me but constructive criticism is _always_ welcome. Hope you like it!

They're the only ones in the motel, or so it seemed. It was down time again after hunting down another one of the monster's Crowley wanted them to catch. Dean was still grumbling about being a demon's bitch as he removed his tattered shirt and inspected the wound the Alpha Wendigo left on his chest. He was bleeding profusely, his skin and shirt sticky with blood, but Sam could see it was more superficial than anything.

And Sam might not have a soul but something told him that the heat low in his belly that started when he saw Dean wince and grow a little pale from the pain as the wounds reopened wasn't normal. But he wasn't trying to be normal. He was just Sam. Soulless Sam, a puppet like Dean said, and maybe a freak, but he liked it this way. He was enjoying not having the heavy load of emotions on his back that came with being normal. Not that he would be, anyway, even if he was Dean's Sam again. He was never born to be normal, despite his delusions of the fact, and he could see that now. Without the wool in his eyes.

He stripped himself of his own shirt, rubbing a finger over a growing bruise on his left side where the Wendigo had knocked him to the ground, and bit his lip as his dick twitched in his jeans. He watched Dean blatantly, as he chucked his shoes and jeans too, clearly intent on taking a shower. His brother seemed to feel his gaze, which didn't surprise him considering how connected they seemed to be sometimes (even soulless he could see there was something almost palpable between them), and green eyes looked him up and down. The old Sam would have rolled his eyes at the calculating look his brother gave him, accessing his injuries, and not looking away until he was satisfied his 6'4, floppy haired  brother was unharmed.

This Sam just raised an eyebrow and let him look his fill.

As it was, he was doing some looking of his own.

At the soft skin of his brother's belly, the downy hairs that trailed down from his belly button into his boxer briefs, and the milky white skin of his thighs. The curve of his hips, the blood dripping from his chest and making a path down the strong muscles of his abdomen, and the distinct nature of his bow legs as he squirmed a little unconsciously under his little brother's gaze.

"What are you looking at?" Dean said. He made an aborted move to cross his arms over his chest as if to bend into himself, unconscious from the looks of it, since he wasn't blushing or rubbing the nape of his neck like he did when he was uncomfortable.

Sam shrugged then, kicking off his shoes, and sat down on his twin bed across from him to pull off his socks.

"Nothing. Just think you look really hot like that, almost naked and covered in blood," he replied, not stopping to think whether or not he needed to filter those words. Dean was supposed to be his Jiminy Cricket but he wasn't picking apart every sentence in his head to satisfy some needed facade that he was the same man he was over a year and a half ago.

Dean snorted and kicked his boot off and sent it rolling somewhere against the end of the bed.

"Yeah, well Prince-"

He could see, even without looking up from his lap the entire way, the moment his brother processed his words. Dean swallowed thickly, the sound almost like a bomb in the suddenly quiet room, and he froze from where he'd been attempting to slip his foot out of his other shoe.

"What-what did you just say?"

Sam looked up finally, taking a second to admire the sight of his brother slowly going completely pale, his freckles becoming more prominent as he met Sam's unperturbed gaze.

"I said-I think you look really hot like that, Dean. In fact, I think you'd look even better under me as a fuck you bloody into the mattress, and use my swiss army knife to make you really bleed for me."

As he spoke, Dean's eyes widened, and he backed up just shy of hitting the bed, and glanced to the front door and then to his jacket where Sam knew he left his gun.

Sam licked his lips and tilted his head.

"I don't think you want to do that," he told him, letting a sliver of amusement bleed through in his expression. "I know you don't want to hurt me, Dean. You don't want to leave a mess of a body for your little brother to come back to, do you?"

Dean's jaw tightened, nostrils flaring slightly, and glared at him.

"What do you want? God. You're so messed up, you know that?"

Sam shrugged. "Nothing new." He'd certainly been called worse before, that was for sure, even by Dean.

After taking off his sock he stood and Dean tensed where he was, arms coming up palms faced forward.

"Come on, Sammy. What are you thinking in the big head of yours? It's probably nothing good, man. Don't you remember? I said I'd be your conscience and whatever is running around in there right now isn't right."

He'd always liked his height advantage, hitting six feet at seventeen, and not stopping until he was taller than his brother by a long shot. Now? He loved it. He stepped closer, making Dean back up until the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he could see every little line on his forehead, every freckle, and the curve of his throat as Sam met his gaze and forced him to bent his head to do so.

"I'm not worried about being right, Dean. I don't care. Don't you get it? I don't care what you think is right or wrong. I don't care what anyone thinks," he said, shaking his head, and leaning close enough to feel the soft huff of his brother's breath against his cheek.

"But I do care about what I want," Sam added after a second of silence between them. "And right now I want to fuck your pretty little mouth until your face turns blue, your lips cracks from being stretched around my cock, and I wanna watch your eyes roll back inside your head."

He grabbed Dean's throat in a strong grip, making him choke on a gasp, and smiled at him.

"Okay?"

Dean's hand came up to try and tug on his arm, to fight him off or find some semblance of control, but it was futile. His face pinked as his breath was cut off entirely, and glared at him with wide, shiny green eyes.

Sam squeezed slightly. "I _said_. Is that okay?"

He watched as an internal debate went on his brother's head, eyes blinking slightly and watering at the lack of oxygen, before his head moved slightly in a small nod as best as he could.

Sam sighed and loosened his grip on his neck just enough that Dean could gasp in a breath. He watched as his brother tried to collect air in his lungs with rapid intakes and rolled his eyes before letting go of him completely and shoving hard at his chest.

Dean cried out, a barely noticeable sound of more surprise than pain, and fell back against the bed, catching himself on his forearms.

"What the _fuck_?"

Sam snorted.

"Oh shut up," he snapped, grabbing Dean's legs to stop him from moving him away and tugging him until they were between his own, locked uncomfortably together. Sam unzipped his jeans as Dean looked away with a grave expression on his face. He pushed them down his thighs along with his underwear to free his cock and took it in his hand to stroke one, twice. He motioned for Dean to sit up.

And when his brother didn't- stupid, stubborn Dean- Sam reached over and grabbed his hair tightly, sinking his nails into his scalp and tugging him upward. Dean cursed and threw a punch against his chest, which Sam didn't react to despite the twinge of pain, and pushed his neck down pointedly.

" _Suck_."

Dean shook his head, snapping his jaw closed tight enough Sam could have sworn he heard a creak, and tried to pull free. Sam growled at his defiance, although he couldn't say he didn't like it, and slapped his cheek with the back of his hand, hard enough to turn his head and cut the corner of his mouth as it broke skin with his teeth.

"Either you do as I say or I swear I'll rip your jaw apart and fuck you whether you like it or not," he threatened, ignoring the glare he received in response. Dean wiped at his mouth and glanced at his cock. Sam saw right through him.

"And if you bite me, I'll rip out everyone one of your teeth, and make a pussy out of your mouth," he added flatly, shoving him forward to his cock again. Dean made a half angry, half pained sound, and his hands shook just a little as he settled them on Sam's thighs.

"Sa-"

His brother didn't let him finish and grabbed his chin tightly, pulling down until he could slip the head of his cock into him (the slight sting of teeth only made his dick harder) and Sam shoved forward until Dean was forced to open his mouth around him and choked when it the back of his throat.

"I don't want you to talk," Sam said with a satisfied grin. "I want you to suck your little brother's cock until I tell you to stop and I want you open that throat of yours for me." He rocked his hips forward pointedly, holding him in place with his hands, then pulled back until only the head stayed in.

"Lick," he ordered. Dean only hesitated for a second, in which Sam could see he was debating the truth of his earlier statement, before pressing his tongue against the head and swiping it against the slit. Sam let out a small pleased sound and nodded, rubbing his thumb against the stretched edge of his lips.

"Suck me down, come on. I know you know how to, big brother. Fuck. Always sucking and biting on anything you can get your mouth on, huh?" Sam didn't give him much of a chance before he pressed forward again and pulled back. After he did it a second time, Dean got with the program, and hollowed out his cheeks. Sam repressed a curse and tightened his hold on his head before increasing his pace.

Dean blinked back tears, his fingers digging moons into Sam's toned thighs, and his breath hitched as he tried to suck and breathe without choking on his brother's cock. Of course it was pointless to think he could as Sam growled and pushed at his shoulders so he could slip the last little bit in, his nose hitting Sam's pubic bone with each staccato thrust of his hips.

"Yeah, fuck, Dean. So fucking good. Open your mouth for me you little slut. Take all of me," he babbled. His hands let go of his head long enough to grab his lips and slip his thumbs alongside his cock to stretch his jaw further. Dean let out a muffled sound of pain around him, tears tracking down his hairline, and breathed heavy through his nose. Sam tsked and thrust harder, moaning at the slap of his balls against his chin, and the sound of him gagging.

"Such a pretty mouth. Always begging to be fucked red and raw. I swear you were made for this, Dean. Made to take my cock and for me." Sam let go of his lips but kept feeding him his dick, and held the back of his head while the other slid down to his chest. He pressed it against his wounds, the blood starting to dry, and scratched until they reopened and his hand grew slick with blood. His own breathing was faster and groaned as he palmed his balls with a sticky hand and stained Dean's cheek with it.

"Yeah, go on," he mumbled, pressing as far back as he could go, and watched Dean's pupils dilate from lack of air. He choked, barely a sound, and grappled at his legs, thighs, and the air as Sam pressed against his head harder. He made a sound akin to a wheeze as his lungs collapsed, his throat tightening around Sam's dick perfectly. Sam cursed and pulled back only just slightly before pushing back the entire way hard.

Dean was sobbing now, a natural reaction he couldn't seem to control, and Sam massaged where he could swear he could feel his cock in his throat, making a pleased sound. At the glazed look in his brother's eyes, Sam finally pulled away, his balls tightening and let himself slip free.

The other male didn't seem to realize he could breath, his hands having locked on his thighs, and Sam slapped his cheek lightly, bringing him back from where he'd gone (a hopeful part of Sam said Hell). He gasped in air, leaning forward automatically against Sam, and he let out a small, defeated sound. He tried to speak and failed and focused on breathing instead.

After a second, Sam grew impatient and moved back to let Dean go. That's when his brother looked up, his eyes wide with fear, and he rubbed at his throat.

"Sa-Sam." His voice was nothing but a squeak if that, his lips cracked at the sides, swollen, and his jaw starting to bruise. Sam shook his head, shushing him.

"Be quiet, remember? Unless you want me to gag you?"

Dean's jaw made to tighten but he winced in pain, a reminder of how stretched he'd been, and he shook his head.

"No, Sir." It was small. Sam could bet that if he wasn't looking at him as he reached over to grab his knife from the duffel bag, he wouldn't have heard it.

"What did you say?" He tilted his head at him in interest and Dean seemed to realized what he said because he looked away defiantly.

"Repeat it," he ordered, but Dean shook his head. Sam snorted.

"Okay, fine. Then take off your shorts." He finally found the knife and came back over to him. "Unless you want me to cut them off? I can do that. I can't promise I'll be careful about it, though."

Dean sighed in defeat and slowly started to strip out of his boxers as Sam kicked off the rest of his own clothes completely. He rolled his eyes when Dean was obvious about taking his sweet time. His brother wasn't one to break easy, he had to admit that. He put the knife on the night table and grabbed him, manhandling him horizontal on the bed and tugging his underwear the rest of the way off. Dean took the chance to fight him then, of course, but Sam climbed on top of his kicking legs.

He grabbed both his hands in a tight grip, pressing them over his head, and grabbed the knife with his free hand to press it against the pulse point at his throat.

Dean froze.

"Okay. We can do this the hard way, then. I don't mind," Sam decided. He pressed the thin side of the blade against his chest, not at all mindful of the cuts already there, and slid it down his collarbone. Dean let out a scream at the deep cut and Sam let go of his hand to slap against his mouth and left it there.

"Shut the fuck up, Dean," he hissed, digging in the knife. Fresh tears welled up again but he knew Dean experienced worse than this before. He wasn't nearly as weak as he made out to be.

He cut open his own lines next to the Wendigo's. Dean bleed easily, blood running down his sides and onto the matress. Despite his muffled moans of pain, Sam could see his brother's cock hardening just inches from his own.

"Like that, huh? I knew you didn't last thirty years in Hell on the rack without learning to like it too." He dropped the knife to the side of him and followed some blood pooling at his stomach with fingers, spreading it down to the mat of hair Dean had on his groin and wrapped them around his cock.

At the initial touch, Dean jerked and shook his head. Sam ignored that and stroked with a sure hand until his cock hardened fully. "Don't tell me you don't like it. The proof is right here," he squeezed the cock in his head to indicate. Dean squirmed against him and hit his hand with his own. Sam leaned forward at that and bit down hard on his nipple. Blood smeared against his face but he took no notice as he tugged on the peak with his teeth and chewed slightly. Dean shuddered but let his hands fall limp to each side.

Sam nodded, and let go of his cock and mouth, then shifted so he could lean over and press their foreheads together. Dean meant to shut his eyes but Sam let out an unhappy sound when they met gazes.

"Don't worry, Dean. I'll make it good for you. I've wanted this for a long, long time. I'm not gonna waste it," he assured him. Dean frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Sam shrugged. "Means I'm a sick little puppy whether or not I have a soul. I've always wanted you but all that pent up emotion I had held me back. And now I can take what's mine without feeling _wrong_." He scoffed at the notion. "So, sit back and relax. Be a good boy and I'll let you come."

Dean looked at him, as if he didn't believe him, before seemingly coming to conclusion.

"Fuck you, you sick fuck. I don't care what you say. I'm not doing anything."

Sam sighed at that, not as disappointed to hear it as Dean imagined, and nodded after a second. Then, without waiting to hear what else he had to say, he moved so he slipped in between his brother's curved legs, and pushed them up into his chest.

"It's a good thing I'm all out of words isn't it?" He fisted his cock and spit at Dean's hole, smearing it with spit and blood, before shoving two fingers inside him. He was tight, painfully tight, around him. Sam smacked his ass with his free hand, making Dean jump.

"Relax or I'll shove in and tear us both up," he threatened, scissoring his fingers until his muscles gave. Dean cursed at him but after a moment relaxed enough that Sam's fingers slipped in easier all the way to the knuckle.

"Good boy." Dean glared at him at the pet name and Sam pressed his fingers against his prostate when he found it. Dean jerked and then looked at him in surprise when he pulled out. Sam said nothing and moved to line up, Dean's eyes widening. He shoved forward, slipping into the crack, and grabbed both of Dean's arms to shove above his head, bending him painfully at the hips.

"Leave them there." He held his dick as he pushed the rest of the way in. It wasn't nearly lubed or relaxed enough but he spit where they met and spread it around to make it easier on his cock. After a moment, Sam shoved his legs down slightly, and palmed his chest hard, pulling out before thrusting back in. The movement pulled a sound out Dean, who had his eyes shut tightly, and was gripping his pillow so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Sam pressed his nails into the open wounds of his chest and leaned forward to press their lips together in a clash of teeth that was more a bite than a kiss. Dean's eyes flew open and Sam grabbed his face as he fucked into him, forcing his mouth open around his tongue as he mimicked the motion with it. Dean grabbed his head then, scratching and tugging as he latched onto his bottom lip hard enough to break skin. It spurred him further on, making his cock jerk inside him, and he increased his pace until the bed rocked along with him, and Dean scrambled at his back uselessly.

"Holy shit," Sam cursed, settling his hands on Dean's shoulders when Dean pressed his heels against the bed in an attempt to move away and slipped in so his cock was buried completely inside him. Sam moaned as Dean cried and pressed his face into the pillow, soaking it with his tears. His little brother shushed him again, moaning his name, and wrapped a hand around his cock. It had softened but with a few tugs and a well aimed hit at his prostate it started to thicken.

"Just like that, baby. Next time we'll find a safe place and I'll make you really scream." He let out a impatient sound as his balls tightened again at the squeeze of Dean's ass at his words. He let go of Dean's cock to push his legs up and fuck into him without mercy, eliciting small gasps from Dean, and a litany of his name. Whether from pleasure of pain, Sam wasn't sure nor cared, but he rutted against him until he came inside him. Sam groaned in pleasure and milked himself until he was spent and pulled out to watch come leak out of his brother's ass.

Dean made a soft, hurt noise when he did and Sam smiled. His cock was still hard, so Sam pushed his brother's leg down flat, and grabbed the knife. Dean moved to sit up, get away, something, but his limbs shook and Sam just pressed the knife against his hip as he took his cock into mouth. Dean moaned for the first time, the sound wet and filled with guilt, and Sam sucked and licked at his cock as he cut a line down the soft meat of his thigh.

His older brother's hips jerked, making the knife press deeper, and he came down his throat. Sam swallowed, throwing the knife away somewhere on the floor, and pressed on his hips to suckle and lick him clean until it became way passed sensitive into just plain painful. Dean whimpered, limbs like jelly, and Sam pulled away only when he was satisfied.

He sat up and crawled over him to press their lips together. Dean didn't kiss back but curled slightly so he was tucked against him as Sam pulled him closer.

"I hate you," he mumbled against his lips. Sam smiled and rubbed at the cut on his lip, shiny, and open as he licked it. He shook his head.

"No you don't."


End file.
